“I thought I told you no prostitutes,” Storm said. Not because he actually thought she was a prostitute, but because Vidal would know for sure.
“She is no prostitute, my friend,” Vidal assured him. “I do not know the woman. But I do know the jewelry she is wearing. That is a piece by one of the Mouawad brothers. Perhaps you have heard of them, yes? They recently sold a necklace called ‘L’Incomparable’ for fifty-five million U.S. dollars. That piece she is wearing is not quite as fine and without a loop I could not say for sure…but it is worth, say, two, three million euros?”
Storm let out a low whistle. Vidal finished: “All I am saying is, she is not a prostitute. She may be many other things, however. And at least one of the things she is, right now, is alone. Which seems a terrible waste.”
Storm shoved a few chips back in front of him, to show the dealer he wanted to resume play. He was rewarded with two jacks. The dealer had an ace showing and asked the players if they wanted insurance. Storm declined as did the Germans. They immediately regretted it when the dealer flipped over a king.
His luck was changing. Or at least it was in the game of blackjack. In the other game, it remained to be seen. He flipped a ten thousand euro chip at the dealer and shoved back from the table.
“Ah, the legendary Derrick Storm never disappoints the fairer sex, does he?” Vidal crooned.
“You don’t mind having these taken care of, do you?” Storm said, gesturing at his chips. “I don’t think I want to be encumbered this evening.”
“Certainly. Would you like it in gold bullion, delivered to your suite? Euros? Dollars? Pounds? You know we aim to please.”
“Just leave it on my account,” Storm said. “You never know when it might come in handy. I like to be prepared.”
“Very well,” Vidal said, then nodded toward the balcony. “I hope you are prepared for that as well.”
“We shall see, my friend,” Storm said. “We shall see.”
He clapped Vidal on the shoulder, and walked out to the balcony.
MONACO WAS THE KIND OF PLACE that was more likely to have a traffic jam at midnight than at noon, and as that late hour approached, the city was alive. But while the light reached the balcony, the noise did not. Only the music from a string quartet, which had just begun its set, leaked out of the open doors of the casino floor. From the nearby Mediterranean, a warm flow of salt-smelling air washed gently inland.
Storm walked up to the woman in the ice-blue dress, who was alone by the stone railing that looked out on the sea. She turned as he approached. A few stray strands of her red hair had slipped out of the twist and were being moved by the breeze. Up close, she was even more captivating than she had been from across a crowded casino room.
“Was it something on my tux?” Storm asked.
“Excuse me?”
“The way you kept looking at me. I thought perhaps I had spilled something on myself. I’m terribly clumsy that way.”
“Oh. No. No, that wasn’t it at all.”
“Not my tux then. My face. I must have something on my face. You’ll have to show me where.”
He was moving in closer, as if to give her the opportunity to point out whatever flaw she had been staring at.
“No, no,” she said.
He was very close now, close enough that the smell of lavender was again filling his nostrils, mixing with the faint hint of sea salt to form a wonderful fragrance. It was one no one could bottle. It was also one Storm would always associate with this moment, this woman, this place.
People sometimes thought that a man like Derrick Storm had been with so many women that one more was no great event. The opposite was, in fact, true. Each new experience was only heightened by the appreciation of past liaisons and the anticipation of future ones. He found the female side of the species endlessly fascinating, and was forever intrigued by its complexities.
“Well, perhaps if we get to know each other better, you’ll be comfortable enough to tell me what it is. My name is Derrick Storm.”
“I know,” she said. “I saw you talking with the manager and I asked him your name. He said you are…a very generous man.”
“That’s a nice thing for him to say.”
Their faces were inches apart. He could feel his own heart beating a little harder than was necessary for his current level of exertion, and he noticed a flushing under the faint dusting of makeup on her cheeks. Her heart must have been pounding, too.
“He said you saved the casino from destruction,” she said.
“I’m sure he’s exaggerating.”
“He said you’re a hero.”
“To others I’m a rogue. It’s all a matter of your perspective.”
“What’s your perspective?”
“My perspective is one that will be improved immeasurably when I kiss you.”
He bent his head and brought his lips to hers. She responded by moving her body against his and placing a hand on his chest. Storm was something of a kissing connoisseur and therefore he knew that the first kiss — for all it had been romanticized in song and verse — was never really the best one. It was more like a promissory note, an indication of what the future payout might be, once a certain melding of kissing styles had been achieved. But, at least based on early returns, this one had real potential.
His hand was just beginning to stroke her jawline when she pushed him away.
“I have a boyfriend,” she said, quickly.
“Is it me?” Storm asked. “Well, this is a bit sudden, but, yes, I would be delighted to be your boyfriend.”
“No, no,” she said, flustered. “I mean, I’m seeing someone.”
Storm made a show of looking around. “And yet I see no one. Is he a man blessed with the power of invisibility?”
“No. He was supposed to meet me here, but that was two hours ago.”
“I see,” Storm said. “Is this the first time he’s been late?”
She shook her head.
“Is it the second time?”
She shook her head again.
“Do you have a reason to believe he is desperate to be here but is currently lying in a ditch, incapacitated and unable to signal you or anyone else his distress?”
Another headshake.
“He stands you up a lot, doesn’t he?”
This time, a nod.
“Then he is a fool,” Storm said. “And I don’t say that simply because you’re a beautiful woman and he’s a fool to leave you alone. I say that because the love of a woman — any woman, no matter how beautiful or homely — is the most exceptional thing that can happen to a man, and he is a fool to treat that most precious commodity as if it were disposable.”
Another nod.
“Can I tell you a quick story about love? I think you’ll like it.”
He intertwined his left hand with her right, and moved his right hand to the small of her back. It was a dancing position, though he was not yet dancing properly. Just swaying.
“I never really got to see my parents’ relationship, because my mother died when I was young,” he began. “But I got to see quite a bit of my grandparents’. My grandpa Storm was an old-fashioned gentleman. He escorted my grandmother by the arm everywhere they went, even if they were just walking into the grocery store. And he always held the door for her. Didn’t matter what kind of door — a car door, a barn door, a bathroom door. If there was a door, Grandpa Storm was going to hold it for her. He loved my grandmother, and that was one of the small ways he showed how much he appreciated her.
“Anyhow, they were going into a restaurant one day when Grandpa was hit by a massive heart attack. It should have killed him on the spot. But there was a door to be opened. I don’t know if he worried my grandmother didn’t know how to open one or what. Somehow Grandpa managed to stumble to the door and hold it for my grandmother. It was literally his dying act. When the paramedics came, they had to drag him away from the doorway. At the funeral, I told everyone that I don’t know whether or not there’s a heaven. But if there is, Grandpa is there, holding the door for Grandma.”